


Possibilities

by Kila9Nishika



Category: Captain America, Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Because Marvel Continuity Doesn't Exist, Expect Marvel'verse Crossovers, Explosions, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Jacques is NOT an OMC, Made-up French(wo)men, Maria is NOT an OFC, Peggy Carter is Awesome, Steve really isn't stupid, Steve was an artist, Time Travel, Violence is Approaching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kila9Nishika/pseuds/Kila9Nishika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is fluid.  When one woman is given hope...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Worth It

Like any true-and-blue Doctor Who fan, Tony Stark was well aware of the dangers of meddling with time.

Unlike most Doctor Who fans, Tony was also aware of the possibility of time travel.

Even so, time is fluid, and Tony knew that the time had come for his untested device when the last of the people he cared about had died.  There was nothing left.  Nothing to make this world worthwhile - it would be worth this attempt, even if it destroyed his existence, just to give the world another chance.

There were two devices - one absolutely revolutionary, the other a two-part simple mental suggestion device. 

He had modified the mental suggestion device so that it would self-destruct upon achieving its mission.  The other part, the actual suggestion, had been harder.  Tony had spent weeks listening to recordings and reading accounts, doing everything he could to be as accurate as possible.  He couldn't afford anything else.

His alarm went off.  Exactly one year ago, the last of the Avengers (not including Tony)  had been killed in action.  It was now nearly a decade since the full team had fought Loki in their first battle.  It was the end of an era.

Bowing his head, Tony set off his revolutionary time-travel device. Both small machines vanished.

Time unraveled.


	2. Subtle Mind Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's time traveling device lands, and the mind-influence device does its work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the words are like this:  
> -italicized words italicized words italicized words-  
> It's Steve over the radio.

Waiting.  Waiting, and not knowing – it was the hardest part.  And then –

The radio crackled. _-Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?-_

Morita turned.  “Captain Rogers, what is your lo–”

Peggy didn’t stop to think.  He was alive! “Steve, is that you? Are you alright?”  She held her breath, even as she stole Morita’s chair.

 _-Peggy, Schmidt's dead!-_   Steve sounded faintly breathless, and there was a faint ticking noise just barely audible in the background.  Peggy leaned forward. “What about the plane?”

Steve’s pause was a bit longer this time.  And then – _-That's a little bit tougher to explain.-_

Peggy’s heart leapt into her throat.  No.  “Give me your coordinates. I'll find you a safe landing site.”  She marveled distantly at how composed she sounded.  Inside, all she could feel was a keening wail, screaming to the tune of _Not now!  Not now that it’s over!_

_-There's not gonna be a safe landing. But I can try and force it down.-_

Peggy swallowed back a sob.  Swallowed back pleading words that would get her (and Steve) nowhere.  “I-I'll get Howard on the line. He'll know what to do.”  _I hope._ But Steve’s answer was what she had both expected, and dreaded.

_-There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York. I got to put her in the water.-_

She was shaking.  Distantly, she heard people moving in the background, knew that someone was setting up a transmission to Howard, but all of her focus was narrowed to just this – just Steve.  “P-Please, don't do this. We have time. W-We can work it out.”  But even as she said it, she knew.  Knew the exact shape of that stubborn chin as it would rise to greet this new and fatal challenge. 

 _-Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer, a lot of people are gonna die. Peggy,-_ Peggy shook her head, as if to ward off the words she heard coming.  _-This is my choice.  Peggy?-_

There was a clattering noise behind her, and the faintest smell of something burning.  Peggy’s head ached with the effort she was putting into holding back her tears.  “I’m here.”  She could hear the wind now, even as her mind whirled around one thing – _I can’t leave him there._

Steve’s voice cracked slightly; Peggy would never know if it was the transmission or the situation.  _-I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance.-_

Peggy’s control fell.  One hot tear sliced down her cheek.  “All right. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”  Her head throbbed.  _I need to find him.  I can’t – I can’t leave him there._   She barely heard his answer. 

 _-You got it.-_  

She couldn’t save him.  She couldn’t save him.  She couldn’t – “Eight o’clock on the dot.  Don’t you dare be late –”

But she could bring him home.

“Give me those coordinates.”

_-Peggy...-_

Steve’s voice shook, and Peggy felt a shot of terror.  It was a madcap plan, but she had seen crazier in this war.  She would bring him home to his beloved New York City, even if he did – die –

She rested her head on the console for a brief moment.  “Please.”

_Steve flicked an anxious glance at the blank meter, and then  took in the panoramic view from the window.  He had no coordinates to give.  But Peggy, she sounded close to tears –_

_**Come on, Steve,** he thought to himself.  **You saw those maps, you’re an artist, remember –**_

_Memories of maps, map after map of the planet, of Europe, of North America –_

_“North 57-38 West 48-26.,” he rushed out.  It was sloppy, but within ten miles, probably.  If his memory was correct.  Steve shut his eyes as white filled the windows of the plane.  “You know –”_

Static was the only sound to fill the room, even as Peggy leaned forward to hear Steve more clearly.  A muffled roar had preceded it; enough to tell the tale to all who could hear.  Peggy shook her head, even as Steve’s number’s engraved themselves on her eyelids. 

**North 57-38 West 48 26.**

“Steve?”  She choked.  “Steve? Steve?”


	3. Giving Birth to a Dancing Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One must still have a bit of chaos within oneself to give birth to a dancing star" - Friedrich Neitzsche  
> The most controlled of people have their breaking point... and hiding behind that mask of control is usually a maelstrom of chaos.

Peggy stood very still, her back ramrod straight as she faced Colonel Collins.

“What do you mean, you can’t spare a plane?” 

Colonel Collins scowled, and Peggy could practically hear the thoughts going through his head – _Phillips gives that girl too much leeway_.  “I mean we can’t spare a plane, Miss Carter.”

Peggy lifted her chin.  “Officer.”

“Excuse me?”  One bushy eyebrow lifted.  Peggy held back a grimace.

“Officer Carter,” she said.  “As a member of the Strategic Scientific Reserve, my rank is Officer, not Miss.”

Although not a one of the men working around the room shifted, Peggy could have sworn she heard a snicker.  Colonel Collins’ scowl just deepened. 

“Very well,” he growled.  “Officer.  We cannot spare a plane to go haring off into the Northern Atlantic Ocean.”

Heat began to well in Peggy’s chest, angry, furious, roiling heat.  “Why th- why not?!” she demanded, clenching her fists so as not to reach for her gun in anger.

The Colonel rolled his eyes.  “We’re in a _war_ , girl.  We can’t spare a plane for some scientist to go haring off after a dead soldier!”

The heat froze over so quickly, Peggy absently wondered if it was visible.  “Excuse me?”  She stepped forward.  “Some scientist?  _Some soldier_?  That _soldier_ , as you are so callously referring to him, was _Captain America_ , the first success of the Super Soldier Serum Project which was begun, if you recall, in _1915_!  The _only_ success!  And as for me, I was the woman who brought the scientist who _made_ that success out of Nazi Germany!  I am no layover, Colonel Collins, I infiltrated that cesspool of a country just as the war was beginning, and brought out the genius who created a miracle as his dying gift to the world!”  Peggy glared, her hands inches away from her pistols.  “Surely you can spare _one or two_ planes for the man who turned the war around!”

Colonel Collins looked shaken, but he stood his ground.  “I cannot, in good conscience, send off a plane.  None of my equals nor my superiors shall, either!  We are _at war_!”

Peggy took a breath, although what she planned to say, she didn’t know, when the Colonel continued. 

“And don’t think that I don’t know that you went to that American, either!  I know that you requested a plane from the US first, and I know that they refused you.  As will anyone.  So long as there is a war to win, nobody is going to send off a plane on a wild goose chase.”

 _I promised him I’d come for him.  I made him give me those coordinates._ Peggy was shaking slightly.  _Like hell am I going to lay down and leave him there!_

Something snapped. 

“At war.”  Peggy pronounced the words slowly, as though it would change their meaning.  “All you can say is that we are _at war_.  Fine, then.”

If looks could kill, the room would be ash.

“If you can’t deal with this war, I’ll deal with it for you.”

-

_Addressed to Mr. Howard  A. Stark_

_Posted from Officer Margaret Carter, c.o. [REDACTED]_

_Mr. Stark,_

_I’m sure you remember me – if you don’t, you at least remember Steve Rogers.  I need access to a small aeroplane, or perhaps a good speedboat.  Also, you promised me a better gun.  I’m still waiting.  Or do you say that to all of the girls?_

_Cordially,_

_Officer Margaret Carter_

_-_

**_Addressed to Officer Margaret Carter, c.o. [REDACTED]_ **

**_Posted from Mr. Howard  A. Stark, c.o. [REDACTED]_ **

**_Officer Carter,_ **

**_I’m busy.  Try the European sector of the [REDACTED]._ **

**_Stark_ **

_-_

_Addressed to RAF [REDACTED]_

_Posted from Officer Margaret Carter, c.o. [REDACTED]_

_Where can I get a suit like Steve’s suit was?_

_-_

**Addressed to Officer Margaret Carter, c.o. [REDACTED]**

**Posted from RAF [REDACTED]**

**S.Inhan, ask for Carbonelli.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The RAF guy may or may not return.


	4. An Excellent Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness." - Aristotle
> 
> Peggy follows some advice, and meets a mad, if excellent soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to be doing some editing to the tags, but hopefully nothing too disruptive. I am still feeling my way around AO3, so be patient with me.  
> On the other hand - new chapter! And Peggy's finally going somewhere!  
> 04-26-13: I just fixed a linguistic error. Don't mind me. Sorry.  
> 03-01-15: Reformatting slightly - language rules are now simple. If Peggy can speak and understand the language, it will be written in English. If she cannot understand, or simply cannot keep up, the language will be written in a transliterated form. It will be spelled the way that Peggy perceives it, and not necessarily with proper words. Thus, most of the spoken words in this chapter are in French, but are now written in English for ease of reading.

“Puis-je vous aider?”  

Peggy smiled faintly at the little girl, and mentally translated.   _'Can I help you?_ _'_

It had taken some time to interpret her friend’s message, and then there had been the difficult job of melting into occupied France without being caught.  But now, here she was, just outside of a small village in the far south of France.

“Oui,” she replied after a long moment, carefully folding her tongue around her childhood French lessons.  “Do you know Mr. Carbonelli?"

The girl’s eyes brightened.  “Yes, yes!  The blacksmith from Italy!  Follow me!"

As the girl led her through winding, tangled streets, Peggy could hear the sounds of clanging and the boom-rush of a strong fire.  When the girl finally stopped, they were in front of a large mansion.  “That is the great mansion of the Beaumont family.  But, you want the blacksmith, follow!"

The girl pulled Peggy further down the street, and stopped in front of what seemed to be an old barn.  Tracks from Nazi vehicles trailed back and forth in the yard.  The little girl dashed up to the slightly-open door, and rapped on the wood.  “Monsieur Carbonelli, you have a visitor!"

A tall, muscular man walked out of the shadowy room, wiping his hands on a large apron.  “Yes?  And who are you?"

The girl giggled.  “Funny, Monsieur, it’s Clotilde!  You know!  And the visitor, I don’t know."

Peggy stepped forward.  “Bonjour, Monsieur.  My name is Margot Cartier,” she improvised quickly.   It was close enough that she would answer to it, but not easily tracked. 

“Eh?”  Monsieur Carbonelli brightened.  “Eh?  Yes, Jacques’ friend!  Welcome!"  He waved her in, even as he passed what seemed to be a candy to little Clotilde.  “I will call Maria.  MARIA!  Il tuo amico è qui!”  

There was a loud clattering noise, and then a smash.  Finally, a small door slammed open.  A woman who seemed to be some type of hired help held open the door for an untidy young woman with curly black hair.  The girl was scribbling away furiously in a notebook, sending flecks of ink in every direction.  Peggy stretched out a hand.  “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”

There was a long pause, and then the girl looked up.  “Ah.  Eh… hello.  My name is Maria.  Eh… do you speak Italian?"

Peggy shook her head.  “No, I don’t speak it."

Maria deflated.  Frowning, she scribbled something more into her notebook, and then looked up again.  “Do you speak English?"

Peggy smiled.  “Yes, I do.”

Maria relaxed.  “Thank Blessed Mary.  Come, Jacques told me a bit the last time he popped in, but he never met this ‘Steve.’  If I am to model something after him or his belongings, I’m going to need the best descriptions possible, preferably actual samples, and – wait.”  She stopped, and did something obscured with the doorframe.  There was a creaking noise, and then the plain wooden door opened into a rather modern-looking lift.  Maria smiled.  “After you, Officer.”

Peggy walked warily into the lift.  Maria continued to chatter about scientific things far beyond Peggy’s grasp, even as she shut the plain wooden door.  There was that same creaking noise, and a loud thunk.  It felt as if they had done a sharp turn in an automobile.  Then, the familiar feeling of a faintly seasick drop that Peggy associated with lifts everywhere.

When the lift came to a full stop, Maria threw open the door with a gleeful grin.  “Welcome to the TRR secret base, shared with the SSR!”

Peggy looked around.  The room was large – the same size as the blacksmith’s shop, nearly.  The room was crowded with tables and people, with a couple of secluded hand-made cubicles.  Maria tugged on Peggy’s hand.  “Come on, my stuff is over here.”  She dragged Peggy over to the only door on the walls, a large imposing metal contraption, with the letters MC punched into the center.

“You have your own –”  Peggy choked.  Maria’s room was huge.  It was nearly half the size of the base itself, and was filled with mechanical things and bubbling pots.  Papers were scattered and pinned everywhere, and there were a couple of strange notes scribbled in mirror-writing on the walls.

“Yeah,” Maria shrugged.  “Apparently, blowing things up and shouting disturbs people.”

Peggy raised her eyebrows.  “Er… you like to blow things up?”

Maria smiled.  “Oh, it depends.  Apparently, the worse my mood, the more likely that my experiments will explode.  As for shouting…”

“She talks to herself.”

Standing in the doorway was a tired-looking blonde with an impressive bust.  “My name is Jeanne Beaumont.  I head the Resistance here.  I – ah – volunteer to help this madwoman."

Peggy moved forward, and stretched out her hand.  “I am Officer Margaret Carter.  Call me –”  She choked.

_“Peggy, Schmidt’s dead!”_

_“Peggy?”_

_“Peggy…”_

_Steve called me Peggy…_

_His last words were to ‘Peggy’…_

Peggy breathed slowly as Jeanne took her hand.

“Call me Maggie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Il tuo amico è qui" is Italian.
> 
> S.Inhan is based on a real village in Southern France. There really was a branch of the Resistance there. I have slightly changed the name of the village, and all inhabitants are entirely false. The road, however, up which Clotilde and Peggy walk, is based on a real road just off of the main road in the village. There really is a large and beautiful house, there, and a blacksmith. I don't know if the blacksmith's dates back to the '40's, though, and the village (probably) doesn't have a secret underground base for a super-secret organization.
> 
> Virtual hugs to anyone who can name the village (or region) upon which S.Inhan and the larger region is based.
> 
> Also, can any fandom geeks tell me what TRR stands for? Hint: it isn't a Marvel'verse organization. Also, Jacques is connected to TRR. He may or may not actually make an appearance. Higher weight on not. People who figure out the puzzle, feel free to try to change my mind. I just can't think of how he would interact with the story without more chaos than I can handle.


	5. Reborn Each Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The world is new to us every morning - this is God's gift; and every man should believe he is reborn each day." - Baal Shem Tov
> 
> Something, an idea, is reborn in the workshop of Maria Carboni.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe... sorry about the long wait. Not so long wait for the next one, though, I promise.  
> Oh, and a surprise character in the next chapter. The quote (and its origins) is actually a really good hint.
> 
> 03-01-15: Slight linguistic reformatting. See previous chapter notes for explanation.

“Peggy!”

Peggy jerked awake, breathing hard.  It was the same dream that she had suffered through for the past eleven months – the crackle of the radio, the coordinates, and Steve’s voice calling out “Peggy.”  This time, the dream had replayed the horrible crunching sound that had erupted from the radio’s speakers when Steve had hit the ice.  She took a deep breath, and tried to slow her heart rate down, when –

“Maggie!  I’ve got it!  I’ve got it!”

Peggy sighed, and fumbled for the curtains.  Sunlight streamed into the room, and a glance at her watch revealed the time to be approximately eight in the morning.  Just as she was stepping out of bed, the door to her room slammed open, and Maria bounced into the room.

“I’ve got it, Maggie!  Sweet Mother Mary, I’ve achieved it!"

Maria’s hair was standing up in ragged tufts, and her eyes were feverishly bright within the dark bruises caused by lack of sleep.  A clattering from behind her revealed  a breathless Jeanne, her face smoke-streaked. 

“Maria, you don’t just run into a person’s room without their permission!”

Peggy looked from one woman to the other.  “Jeanne, what happened?”

Jeanne blinked, and then reached up and touched her face, before grimacing.  “One of our prototypes backfired when Maria exploded out of her lab.  The smoke was… unintended.”  She turned sharply.  “Maria.  Let Maggie get dressed, and then you can show her the suit.  In the meanwhile, you can help me clean up.  I have a mission in an hour.”

Maria’s shoulders sagged at the mention of cleanup, but her face brightened again as she began to leave.  “Come down as soon as possible, Maggie!  I’ll need your assistance to touch up on your personal weaponry and tools.”

As the door shut with a click, Peggy sat slowly on her bed, tugging halfheartedly at the curtains.  She had been in France for close to a year, now, and it seemed not one bit closer to the close of the war, despite the Allies’ encouraging broadcasts.  So far, all that she had done since – since 1942 – had been small Resistance raids on the Nazi occupation of France.  True, the Resistance had been grateful for another set of hands, but she could only do so much as Margot Cartier, or even as Maggie Carter.

Standing up sharply, Peggy caught herself in the mirror with a strong stare.  Today was the day.  She was going to bury Margot Cartier.  It was time for Peggy Carter to be reborn.

Four hours later, in Maria’s lab, Peggy marveled at the material of the suit the younger woman had constructed.  “It really holds up against bullets?” she asked, impressed.  She ran her fingers over the mottled brown-gold cloth folds.

Maria shook her head with a slight frown wrinkling her forehead.  “Not quite.  It resists bullets at long distance.  Close range is still out of the question.  The best protection is from wide space impact, like explosions or a fist.”  Waving her hands around to gesture at the room, Maria drew attention to the long strips of similar fabric flopped about the lab.  “It’s naturally quite bright, a reflective gold.  I had to diminish that, for stealth purposes, like you said, so…”  She threw Peggy a hopeful look.

Peggy held the suit up to herself, and then clasped it to her chest.  “It’s marvelous, Maria.  Now, I asked if you could make me a shield, like Steve’s shield was.  Any progress?”

Maria outright scowled.  “I have no access to any of Stark’s – what did he call it?  Vibranium?  To that.  But I did make a shield-ish thing.  Here.”  She held out what looked like a metallic arm-brace, attached to the  left-arm glove for the suit.  “There’s a button on the palm.  Turn your arm slightly when you press it, or you’ll hit your face.”

Peggy slid the glove on, and thumbed the button even as she shifted her arm.  With a humming noise, metal arms extended from the brace.  They connected by way of what seemed to be a gold-white light that made an eerie high-pitched noise.  Maria pulled a pistol, and shot three bullets, deafening within the close range.

The shield flared where the bullets impacted, but otherwise seemed undisturbed.  While Peggy stared – she had never been on this side of the surprise pistol – Maria checked and replaced the gun at her waist.  “Thumb it again to turn it off.”

Peggy did as Maria instructed, and watched as the light vanished (along with the high-pitched hum) and the arms retracted into the brace.  Kneeling, Peggy looked at the bullets.  All three of them were smashed at the point, and looked slightly melted.

Peggy picked up one melted bullet with an awed expression on her face.  “I need to introduce you to Stark.”

Running her hand through her hair, Maria smiled absently.  “Noted,” she said, staring at one of her walls.  “Try on the suit?  So that I can see if there need be any improvements?”

Peggy shrugged.  “May as well.  Do you…”  Maria pointed towards a small corner, hidden by a screen, and Peggy went to change.

Stopping in front of a floor-length mirror before she exited the corner, Peggy stared.  The suit fit her like a glove.  Her bust was both supported and held tightly to her chest, for the least obstruction of movement.  The fabric shimmered ever-so-slightly as she moved, smoothly curving around her hips and down the bend of her legs.  While the first impression was of a dull, dusty brown, the suit gently caught the light – the dilution of the natural material, as Maria had said.

Pushing her hair out of her face, Peggy stepped out fully.  “Maria?”

Maria turned from whatever she was doing, and froze.  “Damn,” she breathed, before mumbling something in Italian.  “Do you have a husband, or a fiancée?”

Peggy frowned.  “No,” she replied slowly.  “Why?”

Maria licked her lips.  “You’re gorgeous, Maggie.  Like a goddess.” 

Peggy blinked.  What did one say to that?  But before she could construct a reply, Maria shook her head and continued.  “There’s also a helmet and mask.  To protect you for as long as possible.”  She held it out, and Peggy frowned.  How was she supposed to put it on?

Sighing, Maria took back the helmet, and stepped forward.  Lifting the helmet, she jammed it firmly over Peggy’s head.  “There.  Now look in the mirror, and then I shall show you where the weapons go.”

Peggy turned to look in the mirror once more, and choked.  The ends of her hair curled out from under the helmet – too short to grasp, but visible.  The helmet fit the exact shape of her head (how had Maria known those measurements, anyway?) and it came forward in a mask that covered most of her face, leaving only her eyes, nostrils, and mouth free.

She smiled.  “Thank you, Maria,” she said.  “It’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, next Tuesday, without fail!


	6. Revive from Ashes and Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The phoenix hope  
> Can wing her way through the desert skies  
> And still defying fortune's spite  
> Revive from ashes and rise."  
> ~ Miguel de Cervante

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same linguistic rules as determined in edits 03-01-15. See the end for translations and more notes.

Shuffling her papers, Peggy frowned.  “Four books of files?” she asked uncertainly.  “Why can’t they send in a spy to retrieve it?”

Maria waved a graceful hand.  “Apparently, it’s too big.”  She sniffed.  “Some top secret info that they’re afraid for even their allies to get a hint of.”

“Even though the Nazi’s already have it?”  Peggy shook her head.  “Never mind.  Fine.  What have we got?”

Maria pressed her lips together tightly.  “You’re going in with the new shift, as a ranking Nazi.  I –” she flipped through the file.  “I honestly think that they just don’t want to ship out one of their fluent German-speakers.” 

Peggy snorted.  “And I’ve been a pain in their collective backsides, so success or fail, they win.”

Maria winced.  “Be – be careful, Maggie.  You have to introduce me to that ‘Stark,’ remember.”

Peggy smiled faintly.  “I remember.  Don’t worry.  I’ll be careful.”  Reaching out, Peggy took the files from the other woman. 

Maria’s eyes were still weighted with worry even as Peggy left the room.

Four hours later, Peggy was grimacing at herself in the mirror.  Blonde, she decided, was not a good look for her.  Not to mention… her gaze drifted over to the uniform folded neatly on her bed.  She resisted the childish urge to throw it on the floor and stomp it into the dust.

The uniform had been carefully and painstakingly imported by way of a spy network.  It would bestow upon her a rather high rank for a woman in the ordinary Nazi ranks.

Peggy hated it.

Three weeks later and deep within Nazi France, wearing the Nazi uniform and prattling off “Heil Hitler!” didn’t get any less disgusting.  It was just a good thing that her German teacher had been a native of France – not one person had even breathed the idea that she might not be from France.  For some reason, a thick French accent over her German completely obscured the natural accent from her homeland. 

“Fräulein Sturmmann Karremann!”

Peggy turned stiffly, feeling starched and ironed.  “Yes, Sir!”

“The floor is clear?”

Peggy ignored the little voice in her head (that sounded like Barnes) that said ‘ _Of course not sir, I’m here_.’  “Yes, Sir.”

“Then continue on.”

“Yes, Sir.”

As soon as the man had turned the corner, Peggy squinted at the door.  If there was one thing that these people were good at, it was cleaning.  Everything was so clean, it shone – but the numbers were right.  This was the room she had been sent to find.

The cleanliness clearly carried over to everything else – the door didn’t so much as squeak as Peggy eased into the room and looked around.  She did have a time limit – three weeks, four hours, and fifteen minutes.  Past that, and there would be no backup for her escape.

She had three hours and counting.

The files were ridiculously easy to find.  They were the only papers which were handwritten, and not in German or French.  In fact…

Peggy pulled out the top sheet, staring at the graceful curves and brisk dashes.  This was a code.  _Her_ code.  She and Steve had developed it, and it had kept them more than one step ahead of the Nazis and HYDRA –

_Oh, Steve._

She translated quickly, the reflex from two years still fresh.  Code into Latin, reverse alphabet, translate –

_…Research Division…. Stark and Einstein have defined… testing was in Los Alamos and unnamed locations…effects include…. No growth, death, complete vaporization…_

Peggy swallowed hard.  This was… this was monstrous!  When she got her hands on Stark –!

A loud clattering noise brought Peggy abruptly from her angry daze.  Turning, she saw that the chair was lifting off the floor, clattering towards one of the walls as if magnetized – but it was chained to the floor.

“Curious…” she breathed, walking over to the wall –

Which unexpectedly shot open like a doorway, revealing a stone passageway.  Peggy stared as a trail of pins and pens rolled through the new doorway, as if ducklings following their mother.

 _Now, what do you suppose would do that?_ A voice asked in her head, the accent of Lower Manhattan making her heart twist.  _I suppose we should go find out._

Peggy firmed her lips, even as she began to follow.  _Margaret Carter, stop listening to voices in your head!_ She ordered herself firmly.  Turning the corner of the corridor, she stopped, her horror strong enough to feel much like an animal in her chest.

Staring back at her, his eyes glazed and empty as stone, was a young boy, trapped behind a wall of glass.  Bulletproof, Peggy guessed, because the insistent slam of pins and pens and other small metal objects was doing little more than making noise.  She knocked on the glass, pulling her gun.  She had an idea.

“Do you speak French?”  Peggy forced out in German, wincing as the boy’s eyes grew cold in a way that no child’s eyes should ever be. 

“Nein,” he mouthed.  “Yiddishe?”

Peggy shook her head, and sighed.  “I am going to shoot the glass to break it.  Yes?”

The boy stared for a moment, but his eyes widened when Peggy lifted the gun.  She only had two and a half hours left.

Nodding, the boy tucked himself in a corner, under a plain and unadorned wooden bench.

Peggy took a breath, and shot.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four – a spider-webbing crack –

Five – the glass whined, and shattered, falling into pieces on the stone floor.  The boy pulled himself out from under the bench, and stumbled over.

“Us zanen andara,” he gasped.  “Sao innye – es gibt – es gib andara!”

Peggy blinked as she waded through the languages.  Thankfully, she recognized the first part of the last phrase, and could fudge the rest.  “There are others?” she repeated in German.  “Other children?”

The boy nodded, taking deep, shaky breaths.  “Ya, ya, l’phkhot phier – at smallest four.”  He took another gulp of air.  “A – a klein maydl, and two yun’g’lakh.  Ovar, I am the aul’dast.”

“The oldest?”  Peggy guessed.  “There are at least four, a little girl and two boys, but you are the oldest?”

The boy nodded.  “Ir zint nisht a Nazi?”

“I am not a Nazi!”  Peggy hadn’t meant to shout, but she couldn’t help it.  She hated the very idea…

The boy nodded.  “Pryyhayat?  Eh… volnoshch?  Fr-fre-freedom?”

Peggy nodded.  “Show me where the others are,” she said.  “The sooner we get them out, the sooner we can all get out.”

The boy nodded eagerly.  “Ya, ya!  Here!”

Peggy grabbed his shoulder.  “What’s your name?” she asked gently, her eyes flickering to her watch.  Two hours…

“Arik,” he replied.  “Ikh bin Ariel ben Yoseif, Ariel Josefsyn.  Arik.”

“Well,” said Peggy, kicking on the door which he indicated until it fell in.  “I am Margaret Carter.  It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arik.”

That was when the gunshots started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!!! Enter mutants, stage right!
> 
> Translations (All in Yiddish except when noted):  
> Us zanen andara – there are others  
> Sao innye – there are others (Polish)  
> Es gibt – there are (German, but mixed in with Yiddish)  
> Ya, ya, l’phkhot phier – yes, yes, at least four  
> A – a klein maydl – a little girl  
> yun’g’lakh – boys  
> Ovar – but  
> aul’dast - oldest  
> Ir zint nisht a Nazi – are you a Nazi  
> Pryyhayat – freedom  
> Eh… volnoshch – um…freedom (Polish)
> 
> Arik's German is piecemeal, learned by way of being ordered around. He grew up with Yiddish and Polish, and knows very little outside of that and a bit of Hebrew from the prayers.


	7. Name of Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love the name of honor, more than I fear death." - Julius Caesar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Notes: Same rules as last chapter. Translations at the end of the chapter! (Also, if native speakers are reading this and find my translations incorrect, PLEASE send me a message and I will fix them.)
> 
> Again, languages that Peggy doesn't recognize are spelled mostly phonetically, according to how Peggy would spell them. That is to say, plugging them into a translator might not work, because I have respelled them.

When the first bullets hit the wall next to Peggy’s head, Arik dashed into the room, babbling in another language – Polish, Peggy guessed.  Suddenly, she regretted her parents’ disdain of Poland, and the idea of learning Polish.

The next door was solid steel.  Peggy stared at it helplessly, pulling her gun to face off whoever was coming, when Arik stumbled out of the room, holding a little blonde girl on his hip.  Flicking his hand, the door bent, and snapped open.  Peggy stared for another moment , and flinched when more bullets flew by.

“Go!”  Arik said wildly.  “Maoge te zhrobeitsch!”

Peggy blinked at the second steel door as it warped unnaturally, and nodded, whirling around to shoot at the shooter.

Shooters, she noted, taking two down and ducking around a wall.  Done with wearing the stupid uniform, Peggy took the moment to rip it off, leaving herself clothed in the suit which Maria had made. 

Unfortunately, the last shooter was the best shot – Peggy winced as Maria’s suit proved capable of blocking bullets.

Emptying her gun, Peggy threw it aside and drew her spare, one that Maria had built.

“Surrender,” she shouted, inwardly wincing at the trite phrases coming from her mouth.  “Put down the gun, and flee!”

“Never!” the Nazi shouted back.  “What right do you think you have, fighting the True Way?”

“Every right,” Peggy spat, thinking of the man lost in the North Sea.  “What you are doing is evil!  You are torturing and killing human beings!”

“They are animals!” shouted the Nazi between shots.  “We are cleansing the earth!  What do you think you are, some kind of golden bitch to be our judge and jury?”

Peggy felt her mind go cold at the thought of that skinny little boy, Arik, and the despicable description of “cleansing” for the genocide of his people.

She shot.

“Yes,” she told the corpse.  “I am.  A Golden Bitch indeed.”

“Lady Margaret!”

Peggy turned.  Arik was still holding the blonde toddler, and was dragging a starved-looking woman by the hand.  He was followed by a pair of boys – one of them was crimson and had a tail, while the other was shivering violently.

She checked her watch, and horror burned in her throat.  She was running horribly late, and she had to somehow protect these children – well  and the catatonic-looking woman.

“We have to get out!” Peggy grabbed Arik by the shoulder.  “Arik, do you understand me?  We need to get out, if we are going to get out!”  They only had ten minutes.

Arik’s eyes widened, and he chattered quickly to the other children.  The red boy looked confused, at least until the boy clasping his hand translated from whatever Arik had said into what seemed to be Russian.

Shifting the toddler on his hip, Arik freed his left hand, and doors began to rocket open.  “I follow!” he barked.

Peggy ran.

Bullets pounded against an invisible wall, flattening against the force of Arik’s will as they ran. 

And then Peggy heard airplanes.  _Airplanes_.  Where no airplanes should be.  Unless… her heart sank.  Of _course_ they wouldn’t trust that she could succeed.  Of course they would have an overly-lethal back-up plan.  “ _We will destroy this information by any means possible_ …”

A _bomb_.

Peggy didn’t stop – if anything, she sped up – even as she literally plowed down the officer who had questioned her earlier.  (Had that really been only three hours ago?)

“Noise?” Arik gasped.  “Noise, what is it?  A samolot – a, a, a –”

“Aeroplane,” interrupted red boy.  “Samolet nazyvayetsya aeroplane.”

“An aeroplane!”  Arik agreed.  “Noise is aeroplane?”

“A bomb-carrier!” Peggy said shortly as they exited the compound and headed for the nearby forest.

Arik gasped, his eyes even wider.  “Tatte in himmel!”

Time seemed to slow down –

Peggy knew when the bomb hit –

A wave of heat –

The air seemed to bend –

A fireball –

 _Shrapnel flew_ –

Arik shoved the toddler into Peggy’s hands, and her skin felt tight from the expanding explosion –

One of the Nazi tanks – a HYDRA model, Peggy noted absently – was thrust off the ground, tumbling directly towards –

Them.

A _tank_.

It would _flatten them_ –

Arik whirled around and lifted both hands, fingers stiff –

Something _tensed_ –

The tank STOPPED

_IN_

_THE_

**_AIR_ **

Lowered to the ground.

And Arik collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maoge te zhrobeitsch – I can do this  
> Samolot – airplane  
> Samolet nazyvayetsya aeroplane – An airplane is called airplane (Russian)  
> Tatte in himmel – Father in Heaven (Yiddish)


	8. Childhood Thrown Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'Tis not a life,  
> 'Tis but a piece of childhood thrown away."  
> Beaumont and Fletcher, Philaster, or Love Lies a-Bleeding (c. 1609; 1620), Act V, scene 2, line 15.
> 
> But how incredible a gift, that piece of childhood - thrown away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same linguistic rules as before!

Peggy had no idea how she had managed to herd two small boys, a tiny Polish girl, an unresponsive young woman, and an unconscious preteen, all the way to her required rendezvous point.

One thing was for certain, her ride was surprised. 

Two days later, in conference with her “superiors,” she knew that there was a problem. 

“Children, Ms. Carter!”

“ _Officer_ ,” Peggy spat.  “And you would prefer that I had left them to be killed?  They’re children!”

“Three Poles and two Slavs, _Officer_ ,” sneered an officer.  “One is a vegetable in human shape, one is a toddler, one looks like the devil, one won’t stop praying, and one’s a Jew!”

Peggy stood up, her chair clattering to the floor.

“I may not speak Polish or Russian, but I can tell you this – one was raped into catatonia, one was pulled from her dead mother’s belly, one was given to the Nazis by his own father, one was forced to watch an entire monastery slaughtered, and _what the BLOODY HELL is wrong with being Jewish if you’re not a bloody NAZI?!_ ”

The door creaked open, loud in the ensuing silence.

“General, sir?”  A low-level agent shifted uneasily in the doorway.  “The Jew is – well – you have to see it to believe it.”

The general stood, glaring at Peggy as he left, followed by the officers.

Arik had drawn a picture of a man, and was throwing darts.  Well, darts, pins, pens, and other small metal objects.  All into the head of the drawing.

His hands never left his lap.

The general swore.  Two of the officers crossed themselves.  Arik looked up.

“Lady Margaret!  He said in slow _English_.  “What is occurring.”  His accent was quite thick, and Peggy had to wonder if he had known any English when she had found him in the Nazi base.

She made a snap decision.  The general would not penalize these children for her faults.

“I read those papers,” she told the general.  “You underestimated me.  Now, if you don’t want your _project_ told to every Ally in Europe, you will let me send these children to safety; London, if not New York!”

To her immense surprise, the General nodded shortly, and turned to his assistant.  “See to it,” he snapped briskly, stalking out.  The officers followed.

Arik climbed from his cot and led Peggy down the hall.  “Emma,” he called.  “Nie shpisch?”

“Ya!” came the response.  With a wave of his hand, Arik opened the door to reveal a tiny girl who seemed to be made entirely from glass – the same toddler who had been blonde, if ordinary, at the Nazi compound.

“Yest Pani Marg’ret.  Uratovawa nas,” Arik said.  He turned to Peggy.  “I told her that you are the one who did save us.”

Peggy gaped.  “I didn’t… Arik, I didn’t!”

“You did,” Arik said flatly.  “You could have left us there, not any person would have known.”

“I couldn’t,” said Peggy fiercely.  “Not and remained true to –”  _Steve_ , she thought.  _Not and remained true to Steve_.

The little girl jumped, and grabbed Arik’s hand.  “Vrochi i bendchay valchych vienchay Najistoff!”

Arik froze.  “Napravde?”

“Ya.”

Nodding, Arik patted Emma’s shoulder.  “Povrot doe rysunko, Shiejnichka.”

Drawing Peggy from the room, Arik turned a piercing gaze upon her even as a flick of his fingers shut the door.

“You will be going to fight Nazis,” he said in slow English.  “I will be going with you.”

Peggy stopped in her tracks, shaking her head.  “No,” she breathed.  “No, Arik, you’re a _child_ , a boy!  You’re – what?  Twelve?”

“Ten and one,” Arik interjected.

“Eleven, then,” Peggy corrected herself.  “But, you’ve just been through a horrible trauma, a terrible event, you _can’t_ –”

“I will be going,” Arik said firmly.  “Who is it that you know who is capable of doing this?”  He twiddled his fingers, and a pen swiveled in the air, making slow circles.

Peggy stared for a moment, and then sighed.  “You’re going to follow me, aren’t you?”

Arik nodded solemnly.

She sighed again.  “You really want to do this?  To travel with me?  To infiltrate and fight Nazis?  Would you not rather be safe in America?”

“If not they are stopped, safe is nowhere,” Arik replied.  “I want to do this.”

Peggy swallowed back more pointless complaints.  “With me?”

“With you.”

Peggy rubbed her eyes.  “Then you had best meet Maria.”

\---

Maria was enthralled with Arik – she loved his ability to manipulate metal – and Arik was fascinated with a wild woman who made large explosions.

It helped that Maria was extremely childish, and Arik was extremely mature.

“Well?  Well, well, do you like it?”

Maria was bouncing on her heels as she presented Arik’s new uniform.

It had taken weeks to argue her superiors into submission, and Peggy had the feeling that they had given in for the same reason that they had allowed her – no matter what, it was no skin off of their hide.

Arik’s suit was made from the same golden material as Peggy’s uniform, but it was distinctively more silvery.

“I added extra metal,” Maria told Arik eagerly.  “It was a bit of a challenge, but a higher iron and steel content made it so that you’re never unarmed.”

Arik twisted his wrist, and the glove reshaped itself into a knife, which fit snugly in Arik’s hand.  Another twitch, and the knife became a gun.

“Tatte in himmel,” Arik breathed.  “Toe yest spaniaway.”

“Well?”

“It’s wonderful,” Arik translated.  “It’s incredible…” he walked away, manipulating the metallic gloves as he went.

Maria bounced some more, and then turned to Peggy.  “Maggie, what do you think?”

Peggy tilted her head back, rubbing the smooth-studded material of her own suit.  “I think that this is the most expressive I have seen him since we were arguing over whether he could come along with me.  There’s – I wish I could do something for him!”

“You have done so much already,” Maria frowned, moving closer to pull Peggy into a hug.  “You know that he expects nothing from you, correct?”

“I know.” Peggy stared around the room, focusing on the simple cross fixed to the wall.  “Wait.  He’s Jewish, Maria.  He’s just lost his parents, his family, his _life_ , and – and I know _nothing_ about Jews!  What the mourning practices are, how they celebrate the Sabbath, and don’t they have some sort of dietary practices?  Oh my god, Maria, I just –”

“Calm down.”  Maria shook her slightly, and mumbled something under her breath in Italian.  “Listen.  I don’t know anything about Jews, but I have some friends who might.  I’ll ask around.  Okay?”

Peggy took a shaky breath.  “Okay.  Okay.  I, I’ll just try to be there for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Linguistic reminder - these are spelled through the filter of Peggy's perception - I know that it is improper transliteration.
> 
> Nie shpisch – are you awake?  
> Yest Pani Marg’ret. Uratovawa nas – She is Lady Margaret. She saved us.  
> Vrochi i bendchay valchych vienchay Najistoff – She will return and will fight more Nazis  
> Napravde – really   
> Povrot doe rysunko, Shiejnichka. – return to your drawing, princess  
> Tatte in himmel – Father in Heaven (Yiddish)  
> Toe yest spaniaway – this is wonderful


	9. Come Down to Deliver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have surely seen the affliction of My people that are in Egypt, and have heard their cry by reason of their taskmasters; for I know their pains, and I am come down to deliver them out of the hand of the Egyptians – Exodus 3:6-7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same linguistic rules as before - translations at the end.

They were heading out – Peggy couldn’t help but throw one last look backwards towards the village that had been so welcoming.  Arik was already in the truck, his head buried in a book.  His English had grown in leaps and bounds, but his German was still stiff enough that one of Maria’s “friends” in the Resistance had dug up a German-Polish dictionary.  It was close to a century old, but serviceable. 

“Maggie!”

Maria ran from the stately old house which secretly housed the Resistance.  Scandalized whispers leapt from the windows of neighbors at her messy attire; Maria was wearing a pair of slacks and what seemed to be an old sundress under a leather apron.  She was waving a small bag as her bare feet kicked up dust down the drive.

“Here,” she gasped, pushing the bag into Peggy’s hands.  “The book – it took some doing, but a friend has a friend in New York who has a friend…well.  Good luck.  Send me a telegram or something when you reach Aberdeen, alright?”

Peggy peeked into the bag.  It held a small black leather-bound book with gold letters.  “תפילות און טראדיציעס פֿאַר אידן”

Peggy held Maria in a tight hug.  “Thank you _so much_ , Maria.  I swear, I’ll send for you.  And when the war is over, I’ll introduce you to Stark.”

Maria hesitated, and then kissed her on both cheeks.  “Good luck.”

Peggy pulled away, nodded, and swung up onto the truck, settling her hat on her head.  “Ready, Arik?”

Arik looked up briefly from his book.  “Ready.”

\---

“READY?” Peggy shouted, feeling every bruise where a bullet had slammed into her suit.  She grabbed the lip of the truck door, and leapt into the passenger seat, resisting the urge to look back.

“READY!” Arik roared from his place, melted bullets in neat little piles by his feet.  The truck started, and roared past Arik, not stopping even as he grabbed Peggy’s outstretched hands and pulled himself in.  “We’ve got five…four…three…”

Peggy choked as the truck suddenly gained speed, rocketing out of the compound just as the last of their planted bombs went off in a massive chain reaction.  They whirled around a corner, and –

Shot off a cliff.

“Arik!”  Peggy gripped the sides of her seat, willing herself not to have a heart attack.

The truck caught itself – or Arik caught it – and made a perfect airplane-landing on the road below, skidding slightly as they sped up.  Arik let out a delighted laugh – probably a combination of adrenaline and blowing up Nazis – and revved the engine.  “Two hours to Munich!” he shouted over the roar of their speed.  “Less if I can –”  The truck sped up.

Peggy reminded herself that Arik was _very good at this_ , and swore that she would not humiliate herself while riding in a _truck_.

They slowed by the checkpoints, and entered Munich sedately.  Wiping the last of the soot and automobile-dirt from her face, Peggy forced her trembling legs to stop shaking as they pulled to a stop in front of an inn.  The place looked as though it had once been quite lovely, but was now…well, not.

As soon as the door to their room had shut behind them, all of the life left Arik’s body.  He fell almost lifelessly from his feet to one of the beds, and stared at the ceiling blankly.  Peggy took a deep breath, and a chance.

“Arik?”

Arik shifted to look at her.  “Ya?”

Peggy sat down on the bed.  “I… I asked Maria to help me with this,” she held out the bag which held more than a little effort on Maria’s part.  “Just… it is Friday night, and I thought…”

Arik opened it up, and froze, his eyes locked on the book, bottle of wine with Hebrew letters on the label, and two small packets of bread. 

“Maria has some friends in New York, and I thought –”

As if in a daze, Arik lit two candles provided by the inn, and turned to the wine, hands shaking.  He grabbed an empty cup, (also provided by the inn, and just on the right side of clean,) and filled it with the wine.  With the violence of his tremors, it was a miracle that Arik’s trembling fingers didn’t tear the pages as he opened the book to a page midway through.

“Yom Ha Shi-ishi,” his high, boyish voice shook and cracked.  “Va-yi-khu-lu –”  Another crack.  “Ha-Sho-ma-yim Vi-vi-v-”  His voice broke, hard, and choked.  With exaggeratedly careful  movements, Arik set down the cup and book, and collapsed to his knees.  He buried his face in his hands, shaking.

Peggy shifted uneasily, uncertain of just _what_ to do.  It wasn’t like she knew what to do with children –

A thin wail, like a small child’s cry, tore itself from Arik’s throat.  “Mama!” he gasped.  “Given mirmein mama tzorik!  Komantzoriktzumir!  Vratzatch!  Mama!  Es is Shabbos, es is Shabbos, Mama!”

Hesitantly, Peggy reached out, and put her arms around Arik.  For a moment, the boy didn’t react.  Then, he turned into the embrace, burying his face in her neck.  His words were broken and muffled, but even those sobs eventually softened and evened out.

After what might have been a terribly long time, or a terribly short time, Arik pulled away, his eyes red and swollen.  “Margaret,” he said hoarsely.  “Can I try again?”

Peggy swallowed back her own tears.  “Just remember that I don’t know what to do.  You’ll have to teach me.”

Arik nodded, and turned back to the cup of wine.

“Yom Ha-Shi-i-shi,” he sang hoarsely but steadily.  “Va-yi-khu-lu Ha-Sho-ma-yim Vi-Ha-Oretz Vi-Kol-Tzivo-om.  Vi-yi-khal Elo-o-him…”

Later, after Arik had crawled into bed and passed out, Peggy returned the wine to her bag, and stopped to look inside of the book, to the page from which Arik had read.

“.יום הששי: ויכלו השׁמים והארץ, וכל-צבאם”

Closing it softly, Peggy wrapped the book doubly in a spare scarf, and stuffed it into the bottom of the bag.  Perhaps she could get Arik to teach her Hebrew.  It certainly was as foreign from English as one could get.

\---

“Margaret?”

Peggy looked up from the scrappy little book that Arik had created, to teach her some rudimentary Hebrew.  “Yes?”  Arik was rocking back and forth on his seat.  Train rides were never easy, and the knowledge of where they were going…  “Is something wrong?”

Arik blinked in surprise, and shook his head.  “No… I just wanted to say thank you.  For…”  He ducked his head, and drew a swift Star of David on his trousers with a finger.  Peggy stared. 

“It was the least I could do,” she said softly.  “After everything that has happened… it makes me want to apologize for all of humanity on your behalf.”

Arik shifted.  “ _None_ of it has been your fault,” he said fiercely.  “You are doing more than anyone else in the _world_.  We’ve taken down _five_ already, and are on our way to a _sixth_.”

Peggy closed the book, and placed it back into the secret pocket of her jacket.  “Yes… this is going to be a big one, Arik.”

“I know.”

“No,”  Peggy grabbed Arik’s hands.  “The word that we’ve gotten…it’s going to be _terrible_ , Arik.  And you’re going to have to stay in control.  We can’t afford disaster now, Arik, we’re in too deep.  We _cannot_ fail.”

Arik took a deep breath.  “You take strength from that,” he pointed at the tiny cross that she wore around her neck.  “I shall take strength from mein Tatte in Himmel.”

The train screeched as it pulled into the station, and Peggy tightened the clasps on her jacket.  “Ready?”

“Five down, seven to go,” Arik said, pulling himself to his feet.  He lifted the box which contained their essentials, a tiny briefcase.  “Born ready.”

They exited the train without remark.  The truck was where it was supposed to be, and their contact had not been intercepted.  The snag was as they were entering the Nazi camp, preparing to plant their essentials in a handy truck.

Peggy caught sight of the captives, and choked on her own spit.  Her stiffening was enough to alert Arik, who had become minutely attuned to her atmosphere in the last few months.

“Avinu bashomayim,” breathed Arik, trembling.  “Margaret, I –”  His every muscle was tensed.

“Do nothing,” Peggy forced through numb lips.  “We _can’t afford_ to screw this up.  If we do it right, they’ll all be free by nightfall.”

Arik nodded tightly, but Peggy didn’t miss the slight whine of metal warping as they walked through the camp.

She’d had a feeling that this would be a nightmare, and she was right.

Absolutely right.

What she hadn’t expected, though, was what happened when the explosions began.  Disguises came off, obviously, and Maria’s suits were put to their full use –

But whispers followed them.

“Die goldene volf…”

“Die goldene volf…”

“Kveksilber…”

“Die engel gottes…”

“Es ist ein vundar…”

And the Nazis’ shouts –

“Es ist der goldene vulf!”

“Und ir yungen!”

“Tuten!”

“Since when,” Peggy tossed a grenade as they hurtled down a flight of stairs.  “Since when do we have _code names_?”

Arik slapped four Nazis with a steel door, and ripped a window frame (along with the window) out of the wall.  “I don’t know.  Maybe word has begun to spread?”

Peggy jumped out the window, wincing as she jarred her knee badly on the landing.  “Perhaps – Arik, duck!”

Arik, halfway out the window, threw himself into her arms as if he _knew_ that she would catch him.

Which she did.

And then Arik bent all of the Nazis’ guns into pretzel-shapes, and the main buildings were exploding, and skeletal people who only moments ago had been prisoners were now huddled together at the gates of the camp, while the remaining Nazis shot off their guns in attempts to gain some sort of order.  Arik’s eyes darkened.  “Stand back,” he told Peggy, stepping forward.  The air warped oddly around him, and Peggy would later realize that he had been floating about an inch above the ground.

Right at that moment, however, what held her attention were the massive gates to the camp.

ARBEIT MACHT FREI

Arik twitched a hand, and flung the few living Nazis to a wall, pinning them there as effectively as if they were speared.  Slowly, the heavy gates began to shiver, and almost melt beneath Arik’s gaze.  He was – almost – glowing in the sunlight, flames and smoke sending odd shadows across his young face.  Raw with shouting and smoke, Arik raised his voice.

“YIDDEN!”

The people gathered closer, even as their chains and gates tore themselves away and freed the living skeletons.

Arik’s eyes were sparkling, and his skin was soaked with sweat.  His whole body shook, but Peggy wasn’t sure what the cause of the trembling was – whether it was effort or emotion.

“SHEMA YISROEL!” he roared, melting the cruel German lettering of ARBEIT MACHT FREI and reshaping –

“ADO-NOI ELO-HEINU ADO-NOI EH-KHAD!”

An enormous Star of David –

And then a shaky voice –

“Shema yisroel!”

The answering roar shook the camp.

“SHEMA YISROEL ADO-NOI ELO-HEINU ADO-NOI EH-KHAD!”

People crowded forward, reaching out to touch either Arik or Peggy, and to kiss the Star of David as if it were holy – and perhaps, Peggy thought, in a way, it was holy.

She glanced at the sky.  No planes.  Yet.

“We have to go, Arik,” she shouted over the noise.  “ARIK, WE NEED TO GO!”

Arik spoke quickly and sharply in Yiddish.  As they clambered into one of the Nazis’ trucks, Peggy turned to him.

“What did you tell them?”

“Where to find the Resistance,” Arik rasped.  “And that the Nazis were dead.”

“Are they?”

Arik shrugged.  “By the time they are found, they will be.  Does it matter?”

Visions of the people they had just freed flowed in Peggy’s mind’s-eye.

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yiddish except for when noted:
> 
> Given mir mein mama tzorik – give me my Mama back  
> Koman tzorik tzu mir – come back to me  
> Vratzatch – come back (Polish)  
> Es is Shabbat – it is Sabbath  
> Yom Ha-Shi-i-shi: Va-yi-khu-lu Ha-Sho-ma-yim Vi-Ha-Oretz Vi-Kol-Tzivo-om. Vi-yi-khal Elo-o-him… - The sixth day: And the heaven and the earth were finished, and all living things within. And God finished… (Biblical Hebrew, think tunefully)  
> Mein Tatte in Himmel – my Father in Heaven  
> Avinu Bashomayim – Our Father in Heaven (Biblical Hebrew)  
> Die goldene volf – the golden wolf (German)  
> Kveksilber – quicksilver (German)  
> Die engel gottes – the angels of god (German)  
> Es ist ein vundar – it is a miracle (German)  
> Es ist der goldene vulf – it is the golden wolf (German)  
> Und ir yungen – and her boy (German)  
> Tuten – kill them (German)  
> SHEMA YISROEL ADO-NOI ELO-HEINU ADO-NOI EH-KHAD - Hear, O Israel, the Lord is Our God, the Lord is One
> 
> On the subject of Arik – Peggy has given him a focus that canon!Erik didn’t have, a positive focus and a way to hold onto his family through Judaism. He grew up with all of the traditions and religious ritual, so it is something comforting that he can cling to. Also, it makes a magnificent rallying cry.


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